SunStar
by illyria-pffyffin
Summary: Rose's dead and Sam's no longer "torn in two." But does it mean that he's whole now? Are the Ring-bearers going to be together at last?


A/N:  I wrote this as a tribute for Frodo on his birthday last September 22, 2003.  I would like to thank Ariel for telling me what was missing in the first version of this story (I have made an addition to the tale  based on her suggestion), and for proofing it, twice!  Thanks also for Iorhael, who was with me when no one else was.  Enjoy! 

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SUN-STAR 

_A TLOTR fanfic by Illyria_

I wake up with Rose's shawl clutched to my face, still damp from tears.  The sun has spilled through the window, and it is late in September, so I must have slept through the first breakfast at the very least.  Someone has come in to tend to the fire and the room is warm, but I feel cold and weak, alone in the bed that has grown so vast I get lost in it.  

        "You must have missed her terribly, Sam."

        It is you.  I know your voice.  I remember it so well even after the years that have passed since we last spoke in that dreary Havens.  There were times when I was worried that I might forget, that I might not be able to recall the way your eyes half-close when you smile, or the way your hair flops over your eyes, half shading, half hiding them.  But I never forget your voice, Mr. Frodo.  

        I turn, partly wishing that you have somehow returned, but also afraid that it was nothing but a wisp of my imagination running wild from grief.

        You stand there, looking and smiling at me.  I gasp, sitting up slowly and deliberately, not letting you out of my sight, afraid to blink lest you should vanish while my eyes are closed.  

        "Why, Sam?" you say, coming over to the bed.  "Don't you remember me?"

        I try to say something but cannot find my voice.  I stare at you, taking in the snowy curls draped about your brow, the fine lines about your smiling lips, and your brilliant blue eyes that do not seem to change at all, save for getting infinitely deeper, more serene… whole.  Those are not the studious yet lighthearted eyes of the tween Mr. Bilbo took from Buckland to stay at Bag End, not the thoughtful and merry eyes of the young Mr. Baggins of Bag End after old Mr. Bilbo went to stay with the Elves, not the determined yet frightened eyes of the hobbit entrusted with the hopeless quest to reclaim the world.  They are not the eyes of a gentle soul trapped and lost in shadows that reeked of evil and clawed with merciless pain and sorrow.  Memories they were, fleshless shadows with no will their own, but they haunted you, tortured you from within your very heart, where they dwelled in the festering wound gouged by that … by that … trinket of filthy metal. That Ring. And they drove you away, frantically seeking a refuge, even if it meant leaving your beloved home, your beloved friends, those who loved you.  I saw those cursed demons in your anguished eyes when you left with the other Ring-bearers.  

        I do not see them now.  Your eyes are deep blue pools of peace and warmth and joy.  

        Tears come to my eyes.  I want to touch you, to be assured of your presence, of your wholeness, your healing, but I cannot move; the sobs all but take my strength away.  But then I feel your arms warm around me as you gently hold me, I feel my cheek brushing against the silky softness of your hair, I feel your sigh blowing softly on my hair.  I can smell your sweet familiar scent, a smell of summer sunshine and spring wind.  And when I finally can move my arms to return your embrace, I feel you strong and lithe, unlike the shaking, fragile hobbit who held and kissed me goodbye on the piers of the Grey Havens those long years ago.  I weep on your shoulder, Mr. Frodo, contented longing mingles with gladness, a happiness so poignant it hurts.

        "Have you … have you returned to stay, Mr. Frodo?" I finally croak after disentangling myself from your arms, so I can rejoice in looking at you again, so strong and healthy, so…healed.  

        You smile and shake your head.  "You know why I'm here."

        I fix my eyes on you, and then I nod.  I know.

***

She died that morning of Mid-year Day.  It was amazing how beautiful she looked in death.  All the pain that lined her face disappeared and in the early light of the Sun she seemed so at peace.

        "Fly, Rosie-love.  Go," I whispered to her in the dawn.  It scorched my lips and froze my heart to say it to her, but she had suffered for so long, not eating anything for days, breathing slowly and laboriously, not responding to me or any of the children.  "I will be all right.  I love you, but I hate to see you hurting like this.  Fly, Rosie-love.  I want you to."

        I held her hand in mine.  It was dry, cold, unmoving.  My head bowed over her, my tears dripping softly on her blanket.  Horrible cold gripped at my heart, and a terrible fear darkened my mind.  I would fall.  I would slowly and helplessly fall into a dark, bottomless pit if she should leave.  Nothing to hold on to anymore.  Nothing that would hold any meaning.  

        And that was when I saw you.  You were standing by the bedside, looking down at her, then at me, your face glowing bright and beautiful in the soft glow of the candles.  My heart leapt and I looked at her, to see if she could see you too, but her eyes were still closed.  And suddenly, mysteriously, you were gone.  But the coldness lost its clutch upon me, the darkness melted away.  I squeezed her hand softly.

        "Fly away, wife dear, be free.  I will be all right," I whispered to her.  "I have Mr. Frodo still.  We will see each other again.  It will all be fine, you don't have to worry about me anymore.  Just fly, my sweet, be at peace."

        I brushed her silver locks away from her slightly frowning brow and kissed her gently.  She let out a ragged sigh and for a few glorious moments she pressed my hand in return.  I kept my lips on hers until she seemed to have fallen into a less troubled dream.

        She died peacefully a few hours later.  And you, my dear Frodo, sat on the other side of the bed, looking at me, as I kissed her eyes and folded her hands on her breast.

***

Today's your birthday, Mr. Frodo, how could I have forgotten that?  I ride slowly away, still hearing the cheerful shrieks of the little lads and lasses playing in the garden that I have tended for years.  You gave me that garden, Bag End and everything else that you had, and that was plenty, birthday gifts, parting gifts, when you departed.  Is this now another one of your gifts?

        I look back to the garden.  One of the children sees me and waves.  "Bye, Granddad!" he cries, and the other children quickly follow suit.  I wave at them.  I miss them already.  Did it hurt like this when you left Mr. Merry, Mr. Pippin and me, Mr. Frodo?

        The trees that line the roads begin to show subtle traces of autumn.  Trees I helped grow, trees I coaxed to thrive in the ugly scarred earth that was the thumbprint of Sharkey's men.  How beautiful they look now!  Tall and upright, their dense foliage murmuring in the morning wind.  I will miss them.  What part of the Shire do you miss most, Mr. Frodo?

        I stop and dismount, walking over to the mallorn tree that stands magnificently in the middle of the green rolling field where you and Mr. Bilbo had that wonderful party that started everything.  I caress its trunk and look up at its beautiful leaves, the sun dappling warmth on my face.  I will leave, but it shall stay.  It is a reassuring, promising thought.  The thought that there are going to be parties and picnics around that tree, _my_ tree, somehow soothes me.  It is me, my lasting legacy to the land of my birth.  I look around, trembling with the overwhelming thought.  And this is yours, Mr. Frodo, I contemplate, your legacy to all the people, not only of the Shire, but everywhere.  Freedom.  

You are here still, I can feel it now.  You have never truly left.  Just like I will never truly pass away as long as this tree is still standing.  Perhaps I still have a choice.  Perhaps I can still choose to stay.  Perhaps I do not have to go.  I love you dearly, Mr. Frodo and miss you terribly.  But after all, if I sense your presence, your depthless courage, your quiet strength and your measureless kindness all around me even now, we are not really that far apart from each other.  Are we?

        "It's your choice, Sam," you say quietly by my side.  

I look at you, tears in my eyes.  "I never knew," I whisper.  "It must have been this hard for you when you had to leave.  And I thought you were being harsh, leaving us like that."

"I did not have any other choice, Sam," you say softly.  "I was leaving darkness behind me.  You are leaving so much more.  It's still your choice."

***

"It's the mornings that's the hardest," I murmur as I place the roses---white, her favorite---on her grave.  "I usually woke before her, and she always mumbled in her sleep when I kissed her before I left the bed."

"What did she say?" you ask, trailing your finger on the headstone, where her name was carved.  

"Oh, mostly nothing," I say, shrugging.  "'Is the baby awake?' 'Oh, is it morning already?'  Things like that.  Only once…."

You look at me.  "Yes?"

My throat feels dry and tight.  "It was naught," I mumble, looking away.  

"It wasn't, Sam," you say, your hand reaching out to touch me on the shoulder.  "You know it wasn't." 

I know you can feel the sob rippling through my shoulder, but I cannot stop it.  

"It's all right, Sam," you say.  "You don't have to say it.  But I know whatever it is, it meant so much for you."

I can only nod.  I dare not open my mouth lest the wail that I am fighting to control escape and tear down the sky with its pain.  

"Whatever it is she said, it's priceless, Sam," you say, gently stroking my back.  "I know, believe me, because I have none of it."

I wipe the tears from my eyes and look at you with mingled pity and wonder.  

It suddenly strikes me that you know nothing of it.  You know nothing of the joy of coming home and knowing there is someone to share the day with.  You know nothing of the comfort of familiar feelings and scents that greet you when you wake up next to the one you loved best.  You know nothing of the secure feeling that springs from the knowledge that someone loves you deeply and profoundly despite all your faults and flaws.  You know nothing of the warm, cozy kind of love that outlasts the burning, breathless desires of two people madly and helplessly in love with each other.  You know nothing of it all.

"She said 'Good morning, dear husband,'" I say slowly.  "That was what she said."

Husband.  I was her husband.  Hers.  A part of her life.  Someone she loved. It is a word I cherish, and somehow, it saddens me that you do not have the kind of treasure that Rosie and the children have been in my life.

After Rose left there were times when I wanted nothing but to die and be laid there beside her, under the bowers of pink and yellow roses forever weeping scented petals.  But I feel now that maybe it is not for me.  Not yet anyway.  Maybe I really should go to you.  So I can teach you of the contentment I always felt when I heard her voice.  So I can tell you the way my heart danced when I stared into her eyes.  So I can talk to you about the addictive pleasure of doing things that made her smile.  So I can describe how glorious it was, those years I was blessed with her beside me.  So you will know.  

***

A hand, soft on my shoulder.  Rosie?

        No.  Rosie's… 

        "Dad?"

        I open my eyes and look up.  "Oh, Ellie," I mutter sleepily.  "Have I fallen asleep again?  I'm sorry, dear.  You were saying?"

        She laughs, this ravishingly beautiful daughter of mine.  "You were sitting alone, smoking, Dad, when you started to nod.  But I've prepared your room for you.  You can sleep there if you want to."

        I look out the round window.  "Do you still have that swing under the old oak tree?"

        "It's still there," she smiles.  "Would you like me to go there with you?"

        "Yes, I would love that," I nod slowly.

        With her hand in the crook of my arm and her fair hair cascading over my shoulder, we walk outside.  I can hear children laughing and screaming in one of the many rooms in this big smial.  The beautiful white swing is still where I remember it to be.  I sit there, looking out at the green hills, dotted with chimneys and doors and windows, half submerged in twilight.  Elanor leans against me, still holding my hand, and I smell flower in her hair.  

        "Ellie-sweet, I'm going away," I say in the end.

        "You are?" she sighs.  "Oh, Dad….  I'm glad you decided to go out again.  I was rather worried when Frodo said you hardly ever go down to Bywater anymore after Mamma…."

        "I'm not coming back, Ellie."

        She stiffens and sits straight.  "Dad?" 

        "I'm going to meet Mr. Frodo.  I'm going to live with him."

        She draws a sharp breath in.  "Dad, Mr. Frodo left for the…."  She lowers her voice, "He left for the Undying Lands.  The lands of the immortal Elves."

        "I know, Ellie-love.  I know.  That's where I'm going."  This is hard, oh, this is hard.  

        "Dad, that's across the Sea and…"  She stands abruptly and walks to the tree, leaning on it.  "Do you know how to get there?"

        "Beyond the Tower Hills, in the Grey Havens, I think there are still elven ships that sail to the Undying Land."

        "You're so sure, Dad.  What if they wouldn't let you?"

        "I'll find a way."

        She paces toward me and kneels at my feet.  "Dad, you don't even know if Mr. Frodo's still alive there.  You're 102 and he's older than you.  He could be…"

        "No!" I shake my head vigorously.  "I know he still waits for me."

        She closes her eyes and hides her face on my lap.  "Why, Dad?" she murmurs.  "Why do you have to go?"

        I look up and see _you_ standing near the oak tree, the wind tousling your silver-white hair.  

        "Because he's my truest friend and I love him."  My words are directed to you, Mr.Frodo.  

        Elanor looks up and I can see her eyes glittering with tears.  "Don't you love us then?"

        "You know the answer to that, Ellie-love," I whisper hoarsely, caressing her lovely hair.  "I'm not leaving because I have no love left for you."

        "Don't you want to be here with us then, Dad?" she says in a half-sob.  "And see your grandchildren grow up?  And what about your friends, Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin?  And the King and Queen Arwen?  Legolas, Gimli, King Eomer and Prince Faramir?  You are truly going to leave them?  What is a single Mr. Frodo compared to all of them!"  

        "Ellie!"  I glare at her, stricken, my heart hurting as though the words have stung and wrenched it violently off.  "I'll not have you saying things like that about Mr. Frodo!"

        "Oh, I know, Dad!  I know he saved the world," she snaps instead, her voice rising.  "I know he sacrificed nigh on to everything to save us, to save you, but he has his reward now, Dad.  He's happy there, Dad, I truly believe he's happy where he is, and your coming there will not mean a whit to him!  Why do you still have to go to him?"

        I freeze.

         "Because I want to, Ellie-love.  Because I love him."  It is that simple.  So simple.  Why is it so difficult to understand?  "Maybe he's happy enough without me and he doesn't need me, but if being beside him can make your old Dad happy, will you deny me that?"

        Her lips tremble as she stares at me with shimmering eyes.  

        "Being with you, and Frodo, and Rose, Merry, Pippin, Goldilocks and Hamfast, and Daisy, Primrose, Bilbo, Ruby, Robin and Tom…why, Ellie, it is the grandest thing in my life; my happiest memories are of the times I spent with you.  But you see, there is another kind of happiness too.  A happiness that comes from simply being near a soul so noble and beautiful.  The kind of happiness that grow when you admire, and eventually love, someone and are given a chance of being with him. You have been Queen Arwen's maid-of-honor, I hope you understand what I mean.   And you know how it is with happiness, and love.  You can't trim it down or mold it so you can understand it.  It simply grows and is."

        She still looks at me, and I squeeze her hand firmly in mine.

        "I felt that kind of happiness with your Mamma, Ellie.  I couldn't get any happier than when she consented to marry me.  And when Mr. Frodo left, I felt … I felt torn in two.  I no longer do.  I know what I have to do."

        You come and sit beside me, looking at Elanor.

        "I will miss you, Dad," she says in a very small, trembling voice.  "We all will."

        I cannot speak.  I hug her close and she weeps on my chest, brokenly, like a child who is lost.  It is hard not to be undone by the sound of her heartbroken sobs.  I very nearly waver.  I look over her head and stare at you.  I know you will understand.  I know you will forgive me.  I know….  I know….

        But I want to be with you.  

        I feel your hand on my shoulder, and another on the hand I drape over Elanor's head.  You softly lift my hand and bend to kiss the top of her head.  I feel her gasp.  

        You stand up and look at me with those soft, brilliant blue eyes of yours.  "Your choice, Sam," you said.  "I understand." And the twilight takes you.

***

        I look back, but I cannot see her anymore, standing atop the Tower Hill.  I know she is there still though, her hair the color of golden moonbeam rippling in the wind, her shawl clutched tightly in her shaking hands.  It is getting dark.

        "Do you have to leave tonight, Dad?" she whispered as I gave her the thick book bound in red leather.  "Stay a few days more.  Let the family come so we can have a proper farewell party.  We can invite Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin too."

        I only smiled at her and said nothing.  I could not wait.  I might change my mind, and regret it. 

        Will I regret _this though?_

        Will I look back and wish that I had never left?

        Have you ever regretted it?

        I look back again but I can only see the dark shapes of trees in the light of the half-moon.  Elanor, my fairchild, first of the many jewels in my life.  I have been lucky, I have been happy, and I know beyond the Sea, my happiness will be whole and complete at last.  To see you, healed and joyful; it will be the last drop of wonder that will fill my cup of happiness to overbrimming.  I know.

        I am sure.

        But, oh, it is heavy, walking away from the richness that life has so generously bestowed upon me, walking away towards a promise so certain, and yet so vague.  It is hard.  

        I wend my way under the trees, wondering, wavering, longing for you, missing Elanor.  My eyes are blurred with visions of you and I taking our walks, poring over books, talking by the fire…  Of the children running and climbing over me at the close of day, their sleeping faces when I kissed them good night, flowers blooming along familiar walks, flowers I planted and loved to blossoming.  My ears are crowded with your laugh, your singing voice, and your patient words…  And the children's squeals, their prattling questions, the sound of their wet kisses.  Tears fall.

        I find myself standing under the arch of the gates to the Grey Havens.

        It is silent and dark along the quays.  Elven-torches stand unlit in the arched walkways, casting long, faint shadows on walls carved with Elven-images, long unseen, long untended.  I call out, but only the reply I hear is the echo of my voice.  My feet scrunch on dried leaves as I walk to the end of the pier.  

        No ship.

        The Elves have forsaken the Havens.

        I fall to my knees and beat my fist on years of dust and decay, a long, pained howl, piercing and wailing, is torn from my throat.  

        I will not see you again.

        I will not see you again.

***

"Sam."

        I open my eyes and see your face bending over me.  You are cradling my head in your arm, your other hand wiping the tears from my cheek.  

        "Mr. Frodo," I whisper.  "It's useless.  I can't go.  There is no ship here."

        "Do you still wish to go, Sam?" you ask, a slight frown on your brow.  "Do you still wish to see me?"

        "I do, Mr. Frodo," I say hoarsely.  "Now I do.  When I saw that there was no ship, I felt almost dead.  It was like that day in Cirith Ungol when I thought you'd been killed by that huge spider.  I felt no life in me."

        "Sam dear," you smile.  "Up you get then."

        You stand up and reach out to help me get on my feet.  "Trust me," you say, your eyes twinkling.  Still holding my hand, you walk to the very end of the quay.   There is a flight of stairs running along its side and you lead me down the stepsShaking in fear, I keep my other hand on the stone wall at my side.  "Come on, Sam," you say reassuringly.  

        The tide is rising and the last steps are already under water.  I stand on the last dry step and look at you.  The sea is already lapping at your knee, but you smile and nod.  "Come."

        "I can't swim, Mr. Frodo," I say in trepidation.

        "Don't worry.  It'll be all right.  Trust me."

        I step into the water and gasp at its coldness.  

        "Good, Sam.  A few more steps now."

        The few more steps take me under water.  I do not understand how you could fix my eyes with your smile when we are both so close to being drowned.  My feet desperately try to find purchase on the slippery step.  Panic swirls dark and cold in my stomach.  I want to inch my way up the stairs and never see the sea again as long as I have breath in me.  But you are there.  You say I have to trust you.  I do.

        I feel your hand slipping away from my wrist.

        The glow on your face fades.  _You _fade.

        "The Ring-bearers should go together, Sam," you whisper.  "I am waiting."

        And you disappear.  

        I lurch to grasp the empty air where you were.  My feet are lifted from the steps and the current takes me.  Molten fear blazes in my breast, choking me.  I can hear nothing but the sound of rushing water.  Feet thrashing, arms flailing, I try futilely to reach the steps, but the current pulls at me.  Water, bitter and salty, in my nose.  Water in my throat.  In my lungs.  "Mr. Frodo!"

        _Trust me._

        The noises are muffled under the water.  My head spins, my throat painfully tight and my lungs burning.  

        _Trust me._

Something is afloat above me.  Something small, fragile-looking, aglow.  I reach out and palm it.  

        Elanor.

        Sun-star.

        I hold it against my breast, closing my eyes.  

        Water swirls around me, cold and dark.

        All senses fade.  All thoughts cease.  

***

Elanors as far as my eyes can see; swaying gently, dancing with the vivid green grass.  Mallorn trees, their leaves tinged with the golden promise of autumn.  A lake of the deepest sapphire, reflecting a cloudless sky and woody hills.  The sound of Elves singing, faint and continuous, blended in the wind.

        I weep.

        "What is it, Sam?" you ask gently.

        "I am happy," I blurt out.  "I am so happy." 

You smile and put a hand round my shoulder.  "Nowhere as happy as I am," you say.  "I have been lonely for you all this time.  I never despaired of seeing you again.  Somehow I believed you will come.  But it has been a very long wait."

        I look at you, snowy curls, apple cheeks, blue eyes glowing with contentment and joy, and I shiver.  "I thought I'd never see you again.  When I drowned and all was black, and cold…."

        "The Valar accomplish their ends in their own manner, Sam," you say, gazing at the lake.  

        "But tell me again, one more time," I say, shifting so I can see directly into your eyes.  "You never came to visit?  You were not there with me when Rosie ….?  When I was saying goodbye to Ellie?  In the Havens?"

        You shake your head.   "Never a day went by when I was not thinking about you.  But no, I wasn't there.  I wish I had been.  I wish I really had helped you, succored you.  But I wasn't, I didn't."

        I look at the sea of elanors again, blinking.  

**_Epilogue_**

I miss you the most in Spring, Dad, when flowers blossom everywhere, even where leaves should be on branches naked all winter.  I miss the way your eyes shone when you saw those beautiful gardens that you loved so much bloom in a profusion of colors and scents.  I miss you. 

        I take my cup of tea outside and look at the white swing under the old oak tree.  I suddenly realize that I have been avoiding that swing since you left.  It is unfair, I think with a bitter smile, that losing you also means losing the comfort and joy of afternoon swings.  

        Do they have swings there, Dad?  

        I swing slowly, idly, sipping my tea, my thoughts wandering to the night when you left.  And I remember the kiss you planted on my head, the kiss that eased the hurt of letting you go.  It does not help with the missing, though, Dad.  I still miss you terribly.

        "And I miss you too, Ellie-love."

        I turn.  Somehow it does not surprise me to see you there, beside me on the swing.  You look a lot healthier, stronger than your 104 summers should allow you to be.  There is an almost youthful glow in your cheeks and your eyes are warm and contented.  I find my eyes filling with tears.

        "Are you happy, Dad?" I manage to whisper despite my constricted throat.  

        "I am, my sweet, more than I believed possible."

        "I'm glad," I say softly, leaning against your shoulder.  "But I do miss you, awfully."

        You wrap a strong arm around my shoulder and I snuggle closer, closing my eyes, letting the tears flow.

        "Sometimes, Ellie-love, you need it, that tiny bit of hurting from missing someone.  You need it to make the joy sweeter, the memory more beautiful."

        I say nothing more.  We swing gently, slowly, my world contracting to the feel of your shoulder under my cheek, and your hand cradling my chin.  

        When I open my eyes, you have gone.  But a small golden star-shaped flower, a flower I have never seen, lies there on the swing, beside me. 

**_The End_**   


End file.
